


Devotion

by heartstone



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Moving On, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29567655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartstone/pseuds/heartstone
Summary: In the volcano you build a smithy. The earth reminds you of old conversations and the magma speaks of an older devotion. Melkor is fading from the feeling in your palms and the vision you shared is only outlined. Only embalmed. There is a bright star in the west that you hold dearer than any other thing left on Arda, and he calls to you from where he searches in Eregion.***Mairon must choose what path he will take.
Relationships: Annatar/Celebrimbor | Telperinquar, Celebrimbor | Telperinquar/Sauron | Mairon, Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Devotion

***

_inside the heart of every man,_

_there is a lust you understand._

_and i'm just the same._

***

When Melkor takes your hand it is as if He envelopes you entirely in the cool, dark depths of gentle shadow.

Your fingers find themselves tucked between His: the thread of them alternating together is a solace, a dedication just as important to you both as the way His lips bruise your own when you kiss, the way the swell of His mouth against your own trembles as you pull apart. Now, standing side-by-side, a vision germinates between the firm pressure of your palms and grows into the things that you will do for Him. With Him. 

There is a paradise on earth in these futures you both whisper of, fervent into the long hours of the night. Your voice is made of iron and fire and His of the pale veins of mycelium and of ash. You let your eyes fall closed, but the soft after-image is still there. 

Melkor leans forward against you, and you lean back. You both hold each other up like a house of cards.

"I will give you the world," He says, and you smile.

***

_when all the love has gone away,_

_and passion stares me in the face,_

_could I walk away?_

***

It is rare now that He isn't on His throne.

The figure of Him there is shrunken, as of something that has withered. ( ~~Melkor~~ ) Morgoth is a study of taxidermy, a hollow shell of something you try your damnedest to see in the majesty of what He once was.

"My Lord," you whisper. The hall echoes coldly with your intrusion, and the sound fades only after you have stilled your lips.

He doesn't answer. Hasn't answered in a span of time you've gone numb to. You would have considered it so short _before_ _,_ were it not for the grief that lengthened your perception. Instead of dwelling on it, you pick yourself up from where your knees had hit the floor before Him and lean up to where He stares, eyes open, all milky-blue. Carefully, you take the crumbling shape of His burned hands in your own and kiss the ring there on His finger. You don't dare kiss over those unseeing eyes, don't dare to close them to sleep.

He doesn't trust you with the light that stabs across the halls.

***

_here's hoping,_

_you'll help me to be brave._

***

Tyelpë grabs your hand from where it has fallen across the parchment and the candle-flames flicker at your contact, sending tender shadows across his parted lips, his nose, over a gentle grey eye. His fingers have ink-stains across them and you can tell that he is tired with the unending work you share. But when he smiles, your own lips tilt to match.

***

_devotion save me now,_

_i don't want to stray from the hallowed ground._

_i'll turn temptation down,_

_i'm asking you to take me to safety, this time._

***

The soil here is dark and smells of ash dampened with petrichor. The wind blows bitter under the clouds despite the heat that radiates from the baked stones. You walk alone in the desolation to the single peak in the flat plain.

Everything here reminds you of Melkor: the sturdy, proud mountains that encircle you. The vacant soil that smells of destruction but holds within it a fertility, a _hope._ It is Melkor's likeness you see in the single pillar made more dramatic by the lack of all else, dominating the landscape and holding the fate of the lands in its own precarious temperament. Your step picks up. The wind burns your eyes.

He was here once, long ago. You were too.

***

_forgive my thoughts when i'm asleep,_

_forgive these words i'm yet to speak._

_i feel so ashamed._

***

Next to you Tyelpë's breathing is slow and even and deeper than any dreams. You know that he could not hear you if you were to have the courage to speak. But you can't move and you are stuck watching him, feeling him warm and peaceful at your side.

"I love you, Tyelpë," you whisper. Your voice trembles. It isn't what you want to tell him, even if it's true.

***

_right now you seem so far away._

_so much confusion clouds my mind,_

_and i don't know which path to take._

***

The white towers of Eregion spiral like glass, like argent veiled in the mist of the morning vapours leading to the beyond that deepens from blue to midnight-dark. You have seen those towers as mere smudges of pen, felt the stones before they were cut, have loved ( ~~love~~ ) he who dwells at the summit from which you've looked down over the fair lands, his hand in yours. It was all you could wish.

"We will heal the world," Tyelpë had said to you once.

You smile, but your eyes close to the sight of home. Of him. Of your vision.

***

_here's hoping,_

_you'll help me to resist._

***

Standing at the very crown of the volcano, Melkor shows you the blood that collects there in the earth. _The_ _Land of the Shadow,_ He calls it. _Home._ The soil here is black and fertile and in the plain encircled by the mountains you ask:

"My Lord?"

and His voice reverberates across the hot stones, sinks into the molten liquid as He answers.

"I made this for you."

You take His hand in your own.

***

_devotion, devotion:_

_i'm a slave unto the mercy of your love._

_for so long, i've been so wrong._

_i could never live without you._

***

They shine in the low-light of the candelabra, the unassuming sixteen. You fight the desire to gather them within you and break their circles one-by-one as if to free whatever hope there is that they contain. Your fingers twitch with the effort but then Tyelpë's hand is in yours and you lean back as he leans forward against you.

He kisses your neck, your jaw, your mouth when you tilt your head towards him. His breath traces your lips when he speaks.

"I love you too, Anna," he says.

***

_devotion, devotion:_

_take me to safety._

***

In the volcano you build a smithy. The earth reminds you of old conversations and the magma speaks of an older devotion. Melkor is fading from the feeling in your palms and the vision you shared is only outlined. Only embalmed. There is a bright star in the west that you hold dearer than any other thing left on Arda, and he calls to you from where he searches in Eregion.

Your hand falls down empty at your side.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry I haven't been making Silmarillion works/commenting on others for some time, I needed a break because I was just getting stagnant for a little bit there... but I promise that I haven't stopped thinking about the boys and that there will be more to come in the future! I miss you all.   
> The italicized lyrics are from "Devotion" by Hurts ft. Kylie Minogue.  
> It felt so good to write this :'D Thank you for reading and I hope that you enjoyed <3  
> ***


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